


Boredom

by LadyLibby



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bored!Sherlock, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Romance, Sherlock Being an Idiot, but also really sweet, im not in denial about s4 e1, you are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-14 09:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9172579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLibby/pseuds/LadyLibby
Summary: Sherlock is bored, and Y/N is as surprised as anyone when something good comes out of it.





	

Sherlock Holmes and boredom were always, without fail, a recipe for disaster. Well, at the very least, a recipe for some huge mess. 

“Sherlock!” Y/N called angrily to her flatmate, gingerly moving a severed arm out of the way to grab the milk. “What did we agree on? Body parts on one shelf, and food on the other.” 

She sighed, turning around to finish making her cereal. With a squeak of surprise, she collided with someone’s chest. 

“I’m doing an experiment.” The chest, belonging to Sherlock said. His beautiful blue eyes studying her own E/C ones.

Y/N just huffed, pushing past the tall, pajama clad detective. Sherlock hadn’t seemed to notice Y/N’s blush or dilated pupils. She let out a breath of relief. 

The crush she’d worked so hard to conceal and be rid of was still hidden. Romantic feelings towards the younger Holmes brother would only bring her heartbreak, as girlfriends ‘were not his area.’

She settled in John’s armchair, trying to ignore the worrying noises coming from the kitchen as she ate her breakfast. Sherlock was studying something under the microscope when she went in to make some tea. 

With a shriek, Y/N nearly dropped her favorite mug. She backed away, heart thumping from the surprise. An eyeball was floating in it. 

“Experiment.” Sherlock explained, not even looking up from his slide. 

Y/N had the all too familiar urge to slap Sherlock and his stupid cheekbones into last week, but instead, she opted to grab a different mug. 

“Did it have to be my favorite?” She mumbled under breath, pouring the tea. 

While Y/N wondered how Mary and John had convinced her to move in, Sherlock was studying her. 

He told himself it was for the experiment. His results wouldn’t be conclusive if he didn’t take note of her behavior. However, he found himself getting a bit off track. 

The annoyance obvious by the furrow in her brow was soon overpowered by the way the light hit her hair. Sherlock’s attention to the breaths she was taking to calm herself was drawn to the curves of her body. He had the strange impulse to touch her. 

Perplexed by his own urges, Sherlock went back to his microscope. Why couldn’t someone get murdered already? All of this inactivity was allowing him to slip somehow. 

Y/N’s phone pinged. It was a text from Mary. Attached to the message was a irresistibly cute photo of baby Rosie. 

_ Haven’t had a nice chat in a while? Could use a hand with Rosie -M _

Y/N smiled, cooing a bit over the little girl. She typed out a reply on her way to her bedroom. 

_ How could I resist? On my way.  _

Dressed and pulling on her jacket, Y/N noticed Sherlock in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. He was probably in his mind palace, but Y/N spoke to him regardless. 

“Sherlock, I’m going out. I’ll be back in a few hours.” She said. As expected, there was no response. 

****

“The compounds are all wrong, could you hand me that slide?” Sherlock held up his hand gesturing vaguely across the table. “Y/N?” He questioned, looking around for his friend. Was she his friend? Or was she…? 

No. Sherlock shook his head, trying to focus.

“She left three hours ago.” The new father pointed out, handing Sherlock the slide. 

“Have you been letting me talk to her this whole time?” Sherlock asked, slightly indignant. 

John just chuckled, and Sherlock took that as a yes. “Now the data will be off.” he muttered, while his companion looked through some prospective cases above the fireplace. 

“Data?”

“I needed Y/N for an experiment.” Sherlock supplied, knowing that details would only get him a telling off from John.

Dr. Watson picked up a file that Lestrade had dropped of earlier. “What about this one? Missing person’s case with doors and windows locked from the inside-”

“Solved it.” Sherlock interrupted. “War era house, false floorboards lead to an old bunker. Hiding person, not missing. Honestly even you could have solved that one.” The detective explained, unimpressed with Scotland Yard’s attempt at entertaining him. 

John ignored the unintentional jab, instead inspecting Y/N’s mug from earlier, the eyeball still floating. 

“So what experiment is Y/N helping with?” John asked. Earlier that day Mary had put forth the preposterous idea that Sherlock had feelings for Y/N. John was determined to find out if it was true. 

Sherlock could tell that his best friend was up to something. He looked at John a moment, thinking about what to say. “It’s a test of...patience.” 

“And?” John prompted, wanting more detail. 

“And nothing. I’m bored. I am trying various different scenarios and studying Y/N behavior. I am waiting to find out at what level her patience will crack.” Sherlock said quickly, becoming steadily more annoyed. 

“I was right.” John smiled, proud of himself. 

Sherlock looked up, intrigued. “Right about what?” 

John waved his hand dismissively. “Mary got it into her head that you liked Y/N. Clearly, you don’t. No one over the age of eleven would torture someone they like like you are.” 

“Of course I like Y/N. We wouldn’t be flatmates-” Sherlock began, perplexed as to his friend’s meaning. John sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. 

“No, Sherlock. I meant ‘like’ as in you fancy her.” He clarified. 

Sherlock didn’t respond, he simply sat, thinking. For all the denying, Sherlock couldn’t lie to himself forever. Lately, when Y/N was around, Sherlock had been acting differently. 

He had trouble keeping on track, and often found himself staring at her, for no reason whatsoever than that he liked to see her. Even more frustratingly, she’d somehow wormed her way into his mind palace. The last few cases, it was her voice inside his head that helped him put the final pieces in place.

“Hold on.” John said, solving his own puzzle by the look on Sherlock’s face. “You  _ do  _ fancy her don’t you?” He let out a short laugh, disbelief written over his face. 

Before the salt and pepper haired doctor could encourage him to confess his feelings to Y/N, Sherlock was getting up from the table. 

“Excuse me a moment, I have to go tamper with my own experiment.” Sherlock said, disappearing up the stairs, his robe flowing slightly behind him. 

John just shook his head. “Drama queen.” 

****

Y/N hurried down Baker Street, collar up against the wind and rain beating down. She stopped to catch her breath and warm up in the entry way. The beautiful sound of Sherlock’s violin drifted down the stairs, putting a smile on her face. 

Not wanting to interrupt him, Y/N quietly hung up her coat. He stopped to make a few notes on the sheet music to his right before continuing to play. Y/N shivered, the cold of the rain having not left her yet. 

While water boiled for tea, Y/N headed into her room to grab a book. It was the times where she could sit quietly reading while Sherlock played, or did his own thing that made her glad she moved in. 

However, her room wasn’t entirely what she expected. It was a lot cleaner than when she left. When living with Sherlock Holmes, that wasn’t a good sign. She strolled back to the living room and spoke up when Sherlock stopped to take notes again. 

“What happened to my room?” She asked, arms crossed. 

“Just a little organizing.” As he was still facing the window, Y/N didn’t the little smile on Sherlock’s face. 

She stepped closer to him, stopping by his chair. “Why?”

He turned unexpectedly, intense sapphire eyes studying Y/N again. She held her ground and his gaze however, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach. 

“Based on your posture and the continued questions, you don’t trust my intentions for organizing.” He surmised. 

Y/N threw up her hands, becoming exasperated. “Don’t deduce me Sherlock! I just want to know why you cleaned my room.” 

Sherlock, finally dressed, Y/N noticed, brushed by her to sit in his chair. “I can’t do something nice?” 

“No! For the years that I have known you Sherlock, you cannot, unless it was an-” Y/N stopped as the truth dawned on her. “It’s an apology. You’re apologizing.” She placed her head in her palm, sighing. “What did you do?” 

Sherlock stood, hesitantly pulling her hand away from her face. “It was part of the experiment.” 

“You and your bloody-” She started, but he grabbed her other hand, squeezing them lightly. 

“Let me finish. I was endeavoring to find the extent of your patience with me. The final test within the experiment involved a rather large mess in your room. The results that I already gathered and some advice from John helped me realize however, that the experiment was unnecessary.” 

Sherlock moved his hands up Y/N’s arms, the light touch making her heart race. “You are already more patient with me than anyone has been in a long time. I knew that the state of your room would have made you angry.” 

His hands made their way to her face, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face. “The thought of you being angry with me...it made me upset. I have gone through my life not caring who hates me, but you… Somehow your opinion of me holds value in my life.” 

“I’m sorry?” Y/N whispered, unsure of what to say. 

The tall man chuckled, his face inching closer to Y/N’s. “Never apologize for that.” 

Y/N held her breath as Sherlock pressed his lips to her cheek. She closed her eyes, hardly believing what was happening. He pulled back, looking at her with an unreadable expression. 

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Sherlock’s mind was filled with thoughts of her. He was memorizing her face, all the little unique features that fascinated him. The crinkle of her eyes when she smiled, and her mouth…

“Thank you,” She said softly, wrapping her arms around his chest. Without question, he hugged her back, finding the sensation of her in his arms creating something he thought impossible. 

His pulse was elevated. There was a nervousness in the pit of his stomach that could be likened to a fleet of butterflies. Scientifically, Sherlock knew what all of this meant. But for once, he decided to push the logic and analyzing aside in the favor of impulse. 

He kissed her, hands moving to hold her waist. Her hands found their way inside his jacket, on the smooth fabric of his purple shirt. The rest of the world was beginning to fade away when the all too familiar “Yoohoo!” of Mrs. Hudson floated up the stairs. 

“Sherlock? Your post got mixed in with mine-” The older woman rambled, stopping short at the sight of them. She turned right around, proud smile on her face as she returned to 221A. 

As if the intrusion had never happened, Sherlock picked up his giggling love and carried her down the hall to his bedroom. 


End file.
